The Dragonborn: A Biography
by aspiringAnimator
Summary: A decade after the events of 4E 201, an Imperial scholar and author is tasked with interviewing the Dragonborn and uncovering the truth of what really happened those fateful months. The Dragon Crisis, Skyrim's Civil War, Dawnguard, and more will all be covered. Includes spoilers.
1. Lakeview Manor

Tirdas, 4th of First Seed, 4E 214.

"This must be it," I say to myself, staring at the property. I hop off my horse, and tie it up to the stable.

A pale spring sun shines down upon the house. Lakeview Manor. Down the road, Falkreath must be ahead, but my destination is the home. Certainly he must be inside. I didn't come all this way just to be turned away, now, did I?

It's a beautiful property. Tall pine trees grow all around it, creating tall shadows that blot out the view of the stunning, clouded sky. All around, huge, hulking mountains surround the place. For a few moments, I just stand there, gazing around me.

It's been over a decade since the dragons' return. Helgen has been rebuilt by the Stormcloaks. The Aldmeri Dominion has attempted invading Black Marsh. The Skyrim Civil War ended many years ago with the victory of the Stormcloaks. After things finally calmed down, a vote was made to push the Empire into the Fifth Era, but it was turned down by the new emperor.

I hesitate, glancing at the well-constructed door. And then, I knock.

A few moments pass, in which I hear a few clanging noises from the depths of the house. And then, a tall, hooded Redguard woman opens the door. "Can I help you?" she asks in a wary tone. I clear my throat, and speak.

"Good morning. My name is Felix Lucilius. I am with the Imperial City Waterfront Publishing Company. I was hoping to be granted an interview with... with the Dragonborn."

She squinted at me. "You'd better not have any weapons on you," she told me sternly, allowing me inside. "He had methods of disarmament, you know."

"Of course!" I exclaim, entering the sizely manor. "I'm only interested in an interview."

"Stay here," she tells me, pointing at an elegantly carved, cushioned chair in the entrance hallway. "I'll go find him."

I sit down, and look around the place. It's fascinating. Display cases show off acquired riches, such as enchanted swords, dragon scales, and shining jewels. Before I know it, the Redguard woman pokes her head in again, and tells me, "He's coming. I'm Rayya, by the way. I'm his housecarl. Let me know if you need anything."

I ready my parchment and quill. I'd never expected to be granted an interview with _the_ Dragonborn so quickly. And then, the door opens, and he walks in.

He eyes me cautiously, and sits down in a chair opposite to me. He wears a well-tailored robe, and possesses an air of importance and strength. He stares at me, and then says, "Well?"

"Oh!" I say, looking down at my pages of parchment. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Felix Lucilius. I'm with the Imperial City's Waterfront Publishing Company. I specialize in biographies of notable people, particularly from Skyrim. Have you read my biography of Ulfric Stormcloak?"

He shakes his head slowly, and reaches for a bottle of mead on the table. "Regardless," I press on, "I have been instructed by my superiors to seek out an interview with you, and to begin work on a similar novel about _you_."

The man nods in understanding, and only says, "Ah." I look at him expectantly, and then ask, "Would you be so kind as to grant me an interview? The role you've played in shaping Skyrim's future is not to be understated, and a biography of your life is _surely_ to be of great use to generations to come-"

He holds up a hand, and then speaks. "Sure. I'll tell you how everything happened. You'd better have plenty of parchment, though, because it's a long story."


	2. The Dragons' Return

"I was on horseback, riding across the border from Cyrodiil to Skyrim, when they ambushed us."

I fervently scribble down notes of his tale. He continues, looking off into the distance, "It was the Imperial Guards. They assumed I was a Stormcloak, delivering a secret message or something to a camp in Skyrim. They tied me up and throw me into a caravan, and that's all I remembered until morning."

"I came to the next morning, sitting in the carriage, bound for Helgen. With me, was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak. He'd been captured that same night, too. We were tied up, and destined to be executed that very same day."

"Anyway. We arrive into Helgen. They've got this whole prisoner procession going on. They're going to execute a bunch of Stormcloak soldiers, I figure, and I'm apparently one of them all of a sudden."

He looks wistfully into the distance. "We climb out of the carts, and they get our names. We then line up. The first guy is executed."

The Dragonborn looks me in the eye. "Have you ever seen a lot of blood, Felix?" I look up from my fervent scribbling. "Oh, no!" I clamor. "Never!" He looks off into the distance again, and remarks, "It's like... it smells like a lot of molten iron. Or corundum, or something." He uncorks a bottle of Nord Mead, and takes a sip. "I'm next in line for execution. They've literally got me on the block. The headsman raises his axe. Two seconds later, and I would've been dead. Of course, then I wouldn't be sitting with you today, now, would I?"

"What's taking you so long?" a rough voice calls from the main room. The Dragonborn looks over his shoulder. "Oh! Come in here, Derk'! Let me show you somebody."

An Argonian walks in shirtless. I glance around, as the Dragonborn stands up, clamping a hand on the Argonian's shoulder. "This is Derkeethus, Felix," he tells me. "You want to write a biography about me? You're not going to be _able_ to leave out this guy." I shake his hand, as Derkeethus says, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The three of us sit down once more, and the Dragonborn pours half of his bottle of mead into an empty flask for Derkeethus. "Anyway. Picture this," he tells me. "Dragons. There I was, about to _die_, when all of a sudden, a dragon swoops down upon Helgen. Mass chaos."

"You never did tell me this story in length," Derkeethus remarks after a sip of the mead. The Dragonborn acknowledges this, and admits, "No, I didn't. That's why you're here. Among... other reasons."

Derkeethus puts an arm around the Dragonborn, and rests his head on his shoulder tenderly. I fidget uncomfortably, and briefly wish that Derkeethus was slightly more clothed. "When I think back on that day," the Dragonborn tells me, "every time I do, I remain convinced that it was _fate_ that saved me. I can't even begin to imagine what would've happened to Skyrim if I was put on that block about five seconds later than I was. Call me egotistical, but things would be a _lot_ different."

He smiles briefly, and then continues. "Anyway. Like I said, mass confusion. Chaos. People are running. Half the prisoners have escaped. Those that didn't were immediately burned alive by Alduin. Ralof, one of my fellow prisoners, and an avid Stormcloak supporter, rescues me, pulling me into a tower. Ulfric Stormcloak's made it alive, too. Ralof and I make it through the town, and into the keep. Helgen is decimated by that point. We duck into the guards' keep, and have to get through, what, a dozen Imperial soldiers who've got no clue what's going on above? Well, we get out, Ralof and I. He tells me he's got some sister in Riverwood. I'm busy focusing on not going nuts on the fact that the dragons've returned, like from the legends. Nobody would believe it, the first few days. Too much denial."

The Dovahkiin takes another long sip of mead, and looks at the floor. "Ralof takes me to his sister, what's-her-name. People are freaking out. Someone says they saw a dragon fly overhead. It's madness. The sister tells me to go to Whiterun and tell Jarl Balgruuf what happened. I'm wanting to save my own skin, but I decide it's for the betterment of the people. I knew I had to be noble. You know how it is."

I hastily scribble onto the parchment "arrogant", and then look up to see the Derkeethus sneaking in a kiss. I cringe slightly, and flip over the parchment. "My contact in Whiterun, Farengar, says you personally helped him with an issue related specifically to dragons," I tell him. "It was the day of the attacks. Do you care to elaborate?"

"Farengar?" Dovahkiin asks, thinking. "That's the court wizard, right? He was _insistent_ that there was something related to dragons in Bleak Falls Barrow. I was wanting to get back to my folks in Cyrodiil, but the mage pressed me to go to the Barrow. So, I did. You wanna know what I found?"

"Absolutely!" I assured him, looking up expectantly with a quill in my hand. "I found a Dragonstone. Whatever that means," he said nonchalantly. "Those old Nordic ruins are creepy, by the way. There's zombies in those things. Not a fun place."

Derkeethus shuddered. "I still think there are ghosts in those places. We haven't gone in one for years, though, have we?"

The Dragonborn nodded at that, waving his tankard. "That's about right. As you can see, we've sort of... settled down. Well, anyway, I took the Dragonstone to Farengar, was it? I figure I'm done for the day, but no. A lady runs up and says there's a _dragon_ attacking Whiterun."

I tap the arm of my chair with my finger, and proclaim, "I have the records of that incident right here. Whiterun lost its Western Watchtower, I believe. Seven casualties in total."

The Dovahkiin grinned mischievously, and muttered, "Eight, if you include the dragon. Jarl Balgruuf, bless him, sent around six of his soldiers to go fight the dragon. Now, I was excited. I figured those things could be _defeated_. We get to the watchtower, and it's destroyed. A dragon's flying around. We _barely_ manage to take it down. Lost a few good men, I think. Now, you know the story. The dragon is dead, and I, uh... 'absorb its soul'."

I nod. "It was a pivotal moment," I remind him. "Were you able to use the Thu'um immediately?"

He nods back in affirmation. "It was a little weird at first," he admits, "but the voice is incredibly useful. You'd be surprised at all the different ways it can be used."

"I bet," Derkeethus murmurs, taking a sip of mead. "You should see him. Shouted the weapons out of your own hands. Toppled bandits right off of mountains. Deadly... but hilarious."

The Dragonborn laughs. "That's about right. Well, these incredibly bright Whiterun guards immediately start claiming I'm the Dragonborn, from all the drinking songs they've heard. I'm pretty skeptical about it, to be honest, but I go see Jarl Balgruuf to see what it's all about. On my way there, there's a loud shout-"

"The Greybeards," I cut in, writing notes speedily to keep up. "Their call was heard all over Skyrim, and much of Cyrodiil." The Dovahkiin looks slightly annoyed at my intrusion, but presses on. "Jarl Balgruuf tells me I need to go see them. That it's my duty. I think he's full of rubbish, but it's a good thing I did. They're on the highest mountain in the world, you see. But... I made a quick stop. Derk', you wanna take over?"

"Much obliged," his Argonian companion said with a smooth voice. "Let's see here. I was born and raised in Black Marsh. About twenty years ago, I left, due to some... unpleasant circumstances. Arrived in Skyrim, and worked for Verner as a miner up at Darkwater Crossing. Sometime in Midyear of 4E 201, I went exploring around Darkwater Pass. That place is filled with... Falmer, and Chaurus. Nasty place, to be honest. Those things captured me when I was unsuspecting, and threw me in a dungeon for weeks. It was just... _awful_."

The Dovahkiin nods solemnly to Derkeethus's story. "I found him in the bottom of a well," he tells me. "Sure was glad to see me. I give him a little dagger, and we both got out of that place together."

Derkeethus smiles at his companion, and says to him, "You asked me if I wanted to accompany you on your adventures. At first, I wanted to go back to my mining job - by the eight, who _knows_ what would have happened if I did that - but you then told me you were heading up to the Throat of the World. The tallest mountain in Tamriel. It was an offer that... I just couldn't turn down. I'd worked my tail off in that mine for years, and I think I was just... really ready to do something _else_ for a change."

The Dragonborn nods affirmingly, and grins. "It certainly came to be a little more than that, I should think," he tells me. "But regardless. We can't get on with the story unless I tell you about those old coots. The _Greybeards_."


	3. The Throat of the World

"The Greybeards," the Dragonborn begins, "live on the top of the Throat of the World. Tallest mountain we know of. Those who wish to meet them are forced to climb the, uh, seven thousand steps up the mountain. Not very fun. Those steps are slippery."

Derkeethus nods solemnly. "It was so cold. Even after moving to Skyrim, I'd rarely seen a lot of snow at once. Maybe some flurries, but otherwise Darkwater Crossing was quite mild."

His partner glanced at his empty tankard, and elaborated, "Nevertheless, being the, um, absolute heroes that we are, we arrived at High Hrothgar by morning. Now, the Greybeards are four old dudes living in complete silence in this massive fortress."

"Three," I corrected. "According to our records, Borri died two years ago."

The Dovahkiin appeared slightly depressed by this news, but continued. "Shame. Well, the Greybeards had called me for a reason. They want to teach me the 'Way of the Voice', or whatever that means. I figure it's a load of spiritual rubbish, but I go through with it anyway."

I furrow my brow, and take note of the Dragonborn's apparent disrespect for the religious. When I'm finished, he is giving Derkeethus suggestive, bouncing eyebrows. I clear my throat rather loudly, and bring his attention back to me. "Right," he mutters, rather flustered. "Where were we? Oh, the Greybeards. They tell me that there's an enormous number of these Words I can learn... for example, I had already learned 'Fus'. Means force. It's all gotta do with the dragons' tongue. The Greybeards teach me 'Ro', which means Balance. Put them together... and the 'Unrelenting Force' shout is twice as effective. Neat, huh?"

I nod absentmindedly, rapidly recording my notes upon my parchment. "Go on," I mutter, allowing him to continue his story. The Dragonborn clears his throat, and says, "They teach me another shout after that. I'm not sure. I've forgotten a few of the details... it's been too long. The Greybeards then tell me that for them to teach me more... I have to run a little errand for them."

The Dragonborn sniffs, uncorks another bottle of Nordic Mead, and pours it into his flask. He offers Derkeethus some, who politely refuses. "It's no simple task for a normal person," he continues. "But, of course, being the Dragonborn, it was certainly something I could handle, especially with Derk's help. They wanted me to go fetch an artifact that belonged to their founder. Can't remember the name-"

"Jurgen Windcaller," I remind him, glancing at the notes I'd already had on the Dovahkiin's travels. "That was it," he responded genially. "Jurgen. The artifact is at the bottom of some old ancient Nordic ruin. An easy errand for someone like me."

Derkeethus chuckles at that, while I sarcastically scribble down, "incredibly modest" upon my parchment. The Dovahkiin continues his story. "Long story short... after Derkeethus and I made it down to the bottom of those ruins, it turns out... someone had made it there before us. Not only _that_, but they left me behind a note, telling me to go to Riverwood to the inn down there, run by Delphine. Says I need to ask for the 'attic room'. Turns out that was just a ruse by Delphine to find out who I am. There was no attic room."

"T'was a shame," Derkeethus added with a slight nod and a chuckle. "While I hadn't confessed my attraction for my newfound companion yet, I was quite looking forward to sharing a room."

"Hoh!" the Dragonborn laughs after almost spitting out his mead. "Really? Oh, that's amazing. I never suspected. Mmm. Well, anyway, Delphine's spitting all kinds of stuff at me, telling me I'm destined to defeat Alduin, all kinds of stuff. Initially, I thought she was trying to scam me, but it turns out she was right. I was all for becoming a hero, so it sounded good to me. She gives me the, um... Jurgen's artifact, and says there's a dragon about to attack Kynesgrove. I'd had some previous experience with dragon slaying, so I was all in. At first, Derk' seemed uncomfortable with going out to fight dragons with me, but I managed to... _convince_ him otherwise."

Winks were exchanged between the two. I glanced at the pair for a few moment, before clearing my throat again, this time louder. "Apologies," Derkeethus mumbles. The Dragonborn sighs, and leans back in his chair, proceeding to state, "I travel with Delphine up to Kynesgrove. The place is in a right mess. None other than Alduin has arrived, and is actually bringing a dragon back to life, which is a shock to us at the time. Up until then, we had no clue why they were coming back. Nevertheless... we kill the newly resurrected dragon rather easily."

"So what happens then?" I ask, looking interested at more tales of dragon slaying. Rumors have it, the Dragonborn had killed several dozens of dragons in a span of five years.

"Well... Delphine's got an idea about who's behind all this. She tells me it's all because of the _Thalmor_."


End file.
